


from top to bottom

by The_Conquering_Weirdo



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Cathartic release, Domestic Discipline, Gen, M/M, Non-Sexual Spanking, Non-Sexual Submission, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sexual Undertones, Sexual innuendos, Shenanigans, Spanking, Truth or Dare, and tops being topped, brats being brats and brats being tops, teenagers being teenagers, third years bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:15:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26660521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Conquering_Weirdo/pseuds/The_Conquering_Weirdo
Summary: Kuroo respects and likes his rivals in Karasuno, and when the opportunity comes to hang out with the relatively-mature Third Years, he welcomes the chance. As the night goes on, that feeling starts to change.This is definitely Kenma’s fault, but Yaku is fucking getting his, too.(Kuroo is a top who bottoms and a brat who gets topped. My first Haikyuu fic, so be gentle please.)
Relationships: Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou, Kuroo Tetsurou & Sawamura Daichi, Kuroo Tetsurou & Sugawara Koushi, Kuroo Tetsurou & Yaku Morisuke, Sawamura Daichi & Sugawara Koushi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 78





	from top to bottom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yamadad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yamadad/gifts), [teadear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/teadear/gifts), [BionicOtaku](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BionicOtaku/gifts).



> I stan Kuroken with Kuroo, in a domestic discipline relationship with Kenma, as the top, but Kenma being the one who ultimately tops in everything else. I’ve also been eyeing Daichi, and Yaku, and I’m starting to think his fandom is just really great all around. 
> 
> If you don’t like the content, the back button is your friend. <3

They wave their last goodbyes, and the door clicks shut behind them. The sighs of relief that echo in the room shock them all into flinching; they recover a moment later, sharing awkward laughs.

Kuroo runs a hand through his hair and smiles ruefully. It’s not like he doesn’t like the managers of their respective teams. The girls are reliable, kind, and funny, among other great qualities, and having them around for this impromptu ‘Third Years _only_ , Lev, and you’re not a freaking Third Year’ party has been been great. But there’s something about having high-spec girls around that just brings this… tension. No one was being especially weird, but there _has_ been a kind of extra caution in everyone, a hint of nervousness and control where it would usually be missing. Now that the girls are gone, Kuroo has a feeling that’s about to change _drastically_. 

Sawamura claps, looking a little relieved, too. “Alright, boys, looks like it’s just us. It is getting rather late, though, so if anyone needs to head out—“

“What!” Yaku cries, jumping to his feet indignantly. The ribbons in his hair rather detracts from his attempts at looking intimidating, but Kuroo can’t laugh, with the ties in his own hair.

(They’re all fucking soft for their managers, and they know it, but not one of them has balls enough to say no.) 

“It’s barely going on nine and we haven’t even played poker yet! If we leave _now,_ how the hell will I be able to look Lev in the face, huh?”

“It’s always about ‘Lev this’ and ‘Lev that’ for you, Yaku-san,” Suga says casually from where he’s picking trash off the floor. So diligent, Karasuno’s setter. Kuroo hides a grin behind his hand as Yaku tries to pull himself up taller, chest puffing out (he gains maybe half a centimeter, and it’s all from ego). 

“You’re one to talk, _Suga_. You’re always complaining about your firsties too!” 

Suga sits back on his heels, giving him a disbelieving look. “Have you _met_ them? Are you trying to imply you wouldn’t be complaining about them 24/7 if they were in Nekoma?” 

Yaku, himself, and Kai all shudder in unison, horrified at such a terrible, awful, no good mental image. “Gods fucking forbid,” Kuroo blurts out, giving a mental prays of thanks to the gods. He grabs blindly for his cup of soda and downs the rest of it, letting his head fall against the back of the couch.

Is it just him, or does that water stain look like Karasuno’s bratty first year setter’s face?

“They’re really alright,” the big, intimidating wing-spiker with the heart of gold says, obviously lying. Kuroo cants his head, taking Azumane in, and sees the way he’s looking quite uncertain about what he just said.

Yeah. Huge lie.

“They try their best, and… Um. They’re all a little… interesting, but I like them all for different reasons, and… And Hinata really does a good job for how small he is.”

“Lev is obviously better,” Yaku boasts, primly seating himself on the couch like Kuroo isn’t going to hold that against him for all eternity. “He’s a brat and he _is_ always boasting about talent he doesn’t have, but at least he knows his place.”

Like Yaku doesn’t love the damn brat to pieces. He isn’t fooling anyone. Kuroo plops his feet onto the messy coffee table, wistfully thinking of his own favorite, probably sitting at home happily gaming without Kuroo there to nag him about homework. He’d invited him, promising he could make an exception; naturally, Kenma had turned him down as fast as he could. 

“You like him a lot,” Suga says slyly, eyes glinting. Kuroo checks Yaku, and sees the look of ‘oh shit’ flit onto his face. He grins.

“If I didn’t know better… I would say you _like_ him, Yaku-sa—“

“I will _spike a ball at your face_ ,” Yaku hisses like a feral cat, metaphorical fur standing on end. “Don’t think I won’t.” 

Sawamura, who has been rather silent in the background, rests his elbows on his knees and brings his hands before his mouth, pressed together in thought. 

Kuroo eyes him, wondering what’s going through his head, and casually throws out: “We should do truth or dare. I feel like Yaku could use with some incentive to be honest.” 

The face Yaku makes is _priceless_ , and even if it makes warning bells ring in his head when he rounds on him, it’s _so_ worth it.

“What the _fuck_ are you—“

“Sounds excellent,” Sawamura interrupts him, eyes crinkled cheerfully. He glances at all of them in turn, meeting Kai’s eyes for a little longer than the rest. Hm. Interesting. 

What’s going on _there_ , then?

“Why don’t we have a round now, before it gets too late? I know you wanted to play poker, Suga, but perhaps after?” he says apologetically. Looking like the cat that got the cream, Suga rises to his feet and brushes past Yaku a little too closely, saying, “Not a problem at all! I think it’s a great trade off, personally. What do you say, Yaku-san? We wouldn’t _dream_ of pressuring you into this.” 

Yaku… glares at _him_? Kuroo shoots him a baffled look, letting his hands fall out by his sides: the very picture of innocence.

“What? It was just a suggestion!” 

Something flashes across his eyes; too quick for Kuroo to recognize, it nevertheless sends a spark of nervousness through him. Yaku only turns away and stomps over to the extra chair they stole from the dining table once they realized they would have to sit _next to the girls_ if they wanted to fit everyone comfortably.

Kuroo is so glad Sawamura volunteered his place, because his is small in comparison, and Sawamura’s parents are luckily on a trip. He’d ask to crash, but Kenma might take offense.

“Alright, so how are we doing this?” Yaku asks grouchily, tossing his head like he doesn’t care and _oh_. Kuroo is going to tease the _fuck_ out of him just as soon as he gives the play-by-play to Kenma later tonight.

“I would say just go around in a circle?” Kai volunteers. 

“I think that might be easiest,” Suga agrees, eyeing the order and obviously thinking of moving so _he_ can be the one to question Yaku. His eyes catch Sawamura’s, and for some reason, he swallows and quickly looks away. Interesting. What’s _that_ about?

“I’ll start,” Sawamura says, not looking away from Suga, though his expression is pretty unreadable and not angry looking or anything? Wow, this is really turning out to be an interesting night. Kuroo turns the empty glass on his knee idly, glancing once more at Yaku, who’s composed himself.

A shame. Would have been nice to see him flustered. 

Suga settles down beside him. Kuroo moves his legs off the table to give him more space, but he pats his thigh, saying, “It’s alright, Kuroo-san. I have plenty of space.”

“Just ‘Kuroo’ is fine, Suga,” he corrects him, resettling his crossed feet. “I can’t be bothered with honorifics.”

“Kuroo, then,” Suga says, and smiles cheerfully at him. He really is kind of cute, this one. Kuroo smiles back with a hint of teeth and interest, _wondering_. 

Sawamura claps his hands again, and begins. “So, Kai, Truth or Dare?” 

Kai chooses truth, and answers about how he, Yaku, and Kuroo met. While hearing the story again from Kai’s perspective is damn embarrassing, Kuroo is kind of disappointed. How boring. Isn’t there, like… something more interesting Sawamura could have asked, the stick in the mud? 

When it’s Kai’s turn, they all lean forward unconsciously, eyes focusing on Yaku. Yaku sits up straighter, bringing his knees to cross over his seat, his arms over his chest.

“Well, Kai?” he dares him, eyes narrowing. “Got something to ask me?”

“Truth or Dare,” Kai obliges, looking entirely unaffected by the mood or the challenge in his voice. This seems to make Yaku deflate, his face turning uncertain. After a moment, he hesitantly says: “...Truth?”

No one is expecting Kai to actually ask about Lev, which makes it ten times more amazing when he actually _does_.

“Do you like Lev in a romantic sense?” Kuroo is disappointed Yaku wasn’t drinking anything, because the way he chokes on his own spit means it probably would have been really entertaining. 

“....Kai!!!” Yaku sputters, waving his arms as they all fall back laughing. Kuroo is _choking_ he’s so fucking entertained. It couldn’t have gone better than if Suga had asked him how badly he wanted to get into Lev’s pants.

“I-I, oh my _god_ I hate you,” he laments into the hands he’s slapped onto his face. His voice is muffled, but they all catch in when he says: “Yes, okay, I fucking like the idiot romantically. Satisfied?”

“It’s okay, Y-yaku,” Kuroo chokes, wiping away tears of laughter. He meets furious eyes, and laughs harder. “N-no one will j-judge you for liking someone younger than you. H-he’s got that nice f-flailing going on, I’m not surprised you fell for it.” 

Yaku’s look of apoplectic rage is so amazing, he wishes he could get away with immortalizing it in picture form. Sadly, he knows his phone would meet an untimely end if he did that, so Kuroo reigns in his laughter with difficulty, the better to carve the image into his mind. 

Fucking _amazing_. Gods. What a night.

When Kuroo finishes wiping at his face and looks up, Yaku is looking….

Smug?

“Laugh if you want, _Captain,_ ” Yaku croons, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He leans forward, his short legs barely meeting the ground without stretching, and says: “It’s _my_ turn next.”

And Kuroo realizes his mistake.

Yaku is on his right, Suga on his left, and he’s been so distracted by everything going on around him that he hadn’t taken into account they were doing this _clockwise_.

Damn. He’s gonna pay for laughing, isn’t he?

“Come on Yaku,” Kuroo tries, internally wincing at the toothy smile he gets in return. “It’s all in good fun! We didn’t mean anything by it.”

He blinks his eyes at him like Kenma seems to manage naturally, and pouts. “Go easy on me? It’s my first time.”

Suga _howls_ with laughter beside him, which makes him smug enough that it slips through his pout. Yaku’s eyes _glint_. Oh, fuck. 

“Yes,” Yaku agrees ominously, “all in good fun. Truth or Dare, Kuroo?” 

Goddamn it. Like he can back down from that.

“Truth,” Kuroo says, really responding to the dare in Yaku’s eyes. So what if he has to say some truthful shit? It’s not like Yaku has anything on him aside from maybe that one time in first year—

“When you and Kenma mess around, who tops?”

His brain scrambles. Kuroo stares at Yaku, at his short, mean Libero and the fucker who is going to die, shortly.

“Pass,” he says flatly, not looking away from that triumphant glare. Absolutely fucking not.

“No one said anything about passing,” Yaku retorts, still smug. “Rejected.”

 _“Pass,”_ he insists, bringing his feet off the table to sit up better. “I’ve never in my _life_ played a game of truth or dare that didn’t have an unspoken right to ‘pass’. You’ll never convince me otherwise, _shortstack_.”

Yaku’s eyes flash with rage, but Kuroo doesn’t back down. There is no way in hell, in this room full of people he likes and respects the hell out of, that he’s going to admit the truth. 

“He’s right,” Sawamura cuts in, ever the mediator. He raises calming hands Kuroo only looks away long enough to glance at, his face considering. “There is always the option to pass. We’d never put you in a position to admit to something that makes you actively uncomfortable to speak of. This is a safe space, Kuroo.”

Kuroo looks at him fully, and sees sympathy there, and understanding. He also sees that quiet contemplation he’s been seeing for most of the night, and it’s… he doesn’t really know what it means. 

He doesn’t like not knowing.

“How about we set a penalty now? That way we all know and can properly weigh the odds.”

Azumane, sitting on the floor beside Sawamura, nods eagerly, and gives Kuroo a look of kindness that makes him wonder how anyone could _ever_ mistake this teenager for someone scary. “I think that would make us all more comfortable. I would definitely like that option. You can be super mean, Suga,” he complains, blushing when Suga laughs.

“So honest, Asahi! But I’ll be nice, I promise.” Somehow, Kuroo doubts that. He looks back at Yaku and thinks, _You definitely won’t be_.

The look Yaku is giving him makes this plenty obvious. 

“How about,” the bastards says, all quiet menace, “we make the penalty something more… physical. Since we’re all such physically active people and generally kinesthetic learners, I think it makes sense we _feel_ the results of our, ah… let’s say _decision making_.”

Kuroo feels a shudder work its way up his back.

“What do you mean?” Sawamura asks. Why does Kuroo get the feeling his fellow Captain already knows?

Why does he get the feeling _he_ already knows?

“Well, I’m sure there are a lot of ways,” Yaku says vaguely and unconvincingly, “but I was thinking of the quickest and most efficient: a good old ass beating.”

There’s a shocked silence, but it doesn’t last long for _everyone but Kuroo who literally cannot breathe right now_.

“What, a spanking?” Kai asks, and good god, he sounds interested. 

“A spanking, yes.” Suga is sitting up and leaning forward, and Azumane looks both terrified and intrigued, and. _What_ the fucking—

“We can set the amount to match the question or dare the person is avoiding,” Yaku tells Kuroo, meeting his eyes with a very obvious dare in them. “I think that’s only fair, too. Everyone in favor?”

“Aye!”

“...Aye.”

“Aye.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Yaku holds his eyes, and smiles darkly. “Kuroo? What about you?”

He needs to cut his fingernails. They’re nearly cutting into his skin. 

Kuroo is a lot of things, but he didn’t come this far to get outed as a coward and a little bitch—even if he likes being Kenma’s bitch when the mood is right. 

“Totally,” he lies through his teeth, gritting them hard enough to hurt. “Count me in.”

—

He knew it was coming, but he nearly tears his hands to shreds when Yaku looks him straight in the face and asks: “Truth or Dare, Kuroo?” 

Suga asked Azumane something that made him cringe and Sawamura laugh, and Azumane then asked Sawamura something that made him sigh and facepalm. Evidently, it’s not a night for dares. But even if it had been, he doubts he would have noticed. Most of the sentences passing around the room have been lost to his ears since that ringing statement that won’t stop echoing in his head.

 _”A spanking, yes.”_ What the fuck is Yaku _on_ , anyway? Whatever it is, Kuroo wants some, because he knows he’s a riot, but that has to be the funniest joke he’s heard all year.

And it’s not like he’s never… What he and Kenma get up to in the bedroom is no one’s fucking business, but suffice it to say, some form of impact play may or may not have happened at some point in their relationship. And short of Kenma telling people, there’s no way Yaku can know he’s been walloping Kenma for his inability to prioritize and take care of himself since before they even started dating. 

But these two things are completely unrelated to the way Kuroo hasn’t been able to breathe right since everyone agreed to the penalty. 

He’s not going to back out, he knows that. But how is he going to choose between being humiliated in front of these cool ass people and getting _humiliated_ in front of them?

Yaku hasn’t stopped looking at him since that initial declaration. He can feel him staring. 

None of the others have, but in a very deliberate kind of way that’s just making this harder.

How can he decide between being a coward and being outed as a bitch? 

Kuroo finally meets Yaku’s eyes, his own narrowing in spite of himself. Better to be half of a coward and an entire bitch in secret, then. “Dare.”

Yaku… should not be looking like he just won. What?

“I dare you,” he crows, eyes sparkling as he leans forward and breathes, “to lay your ass over my lap for the spanking I’ve been dying to give you since the day I met you.”

Kuroo’s lungs give out. 

“Whoa,” Suga whistles from next to him, not helping with Kuroo’s inability to breathe. “That’s… direct. Damn. I guess I should have seen that coming.” 

“I’m disappointed I didn’t think of that,” Sawamura muses, sounding _actually_ disappointed. He thinks Suga chokes, but he can’t—

A rock and a hard place. Yaku is a fucking _sadist_ , clearly, and it’s incredible he didn’t see this before now. But Kuroo is a _neko_ : He’s an alleycat, used to being stuck out in the rain and clawing his way to survival, one rodent and measly win at a time. He won’t back down now.

“I’ll take the penalty,” Kuroo says, once he’s sure his voice will come out smooth and unaffected. He can feel everyone jolt, and feels almost pleased. 

He raises his arms, and points.

“From _him_.”

Yaku’s eyes widen, and he almost smiles. _Almost_.

Because even if this is technically his win, Kuroo is still going to have to…

“From _me_?” Sawamura asks in astonishment, voice hushed as if admitting to a secret. Kuroo doesn’t look away from Yaku, whose face is now doing something complicated. 

“Yes.”

“From—okay,” the other teen agrees, tone changing to one of easy acceptance. Kuroo looks away, then, before his inability to meet Sawamura’s eyes starts to look like avoidance. His fellow captain is shifting in his seat, murmuring a quiet thank you to Kai and Azumane, who’re vacating their seats (fuck, why does that make his stomach jump?). He gets comfortable, legs spread (???), before meeting Kuroo’s eyes.

“Over here, then,” he says solemnly. Kuroo’s stomach shouldn’t be acting like this is the olympics and he’s aiming for the gold medal, so why is it? He stands like he’s completely unaffected anyway, and saunters over to Sawamura, saying, “I hope you can hit as hard as you spike, Sawamura. The midget over there would have been highly disappointing, I’m sure.”

Yaku’s shriek of outrage is almost enough to make meeting the other boy’s unreadable look easy. Almost.

He pats his thigh, and Kuroo’s stomach revolts.

“Over you go, then.” 

Kuroo goes, because the alternative is 100 times worse. He does his best to make it look nonchalant—a casual, easy acceptance—and doesn’t let on that Sawamura’s sure hands shifting him into a better position makes his heart skitter and stammer with every other beat. 

The couch is comfortable, at least. Kuroo thinks back to all the times he’s pulled Kenma over his lap while sitting on a chair, and starts wondering if this is a better alternative. His chest is supported, and while this gives him more room to kick and potentially thrash his way off Sawamura’s lap, Kenma is small and not that strong: subduing him should be easy. 

“I’d say that, considering this is the second time you’ve tried to avoid the question, we should take that into consideration when deciding on the duration and severity. Thoughts?” 

Kuroo opens his mouth, a witty quip ready, when Kai says thoughtfully: “That’s a good point. Also, since we aren’t familiar enough with each other to recognize when we’ve reached our limit, I suggest that you remove his pants, at the very least.”

The quip dies in his throat. 

“That’s a good point,” Suga agrees immediately, sounding… something that makes Kuroo want to bring nails and teeth to a bitch fight and come out the winner. “Bare might be best, to be honest. It wouldn’t do for you to spank him too hard without knowing, Daichi.”

He wants to fucking protest and potentially throw a volleyball into everyone’s heads in the hope it’ll help them be less stupid, but Sawamura grips his hip tightly before he can form the words coherently. 

“Good point,” he says, and Kuroo nearly swallows his tongue as deft fingers grip his waistband and pull everything southward. What. What the _actual fuck_.

Kai is dying for this. Karasuno is _burning_ for this. Yaku won’t see it till he’s already on the floor, bleeding out and—

A hand grips the back of his neck, firm and strangely reassuring. “Last chance to back out, Kuroo. Even though we’ve all been screwing around a little, I promise, you really do have a choice. If you don’t think you can take this, you can back out, no hard feelings.” 

And Kuroo… feels himself relax. His body slumps, his feet falling on the armrest, and his shoulders stop hunching around his ears. Sawamura is a damn good captain and an even better person, and while Kuroo is fucking going to make Yaku regret _breathing_ , that’s not on Sawamura. 

Kuroo isn’t a coward, and this isn’t the end of the world. Even if his bare ass is already shivering from the unfamiliar cool air wafting over it, the hand on his neck is exactly the push he needs to say: “I think you’re mistaking me for Yaku, Sawamura. I’m not a little bitch coward, and I’ve never been one.” 

Yaku, who’s been weirdly quiet, breathes in a way that sounds like a shriek, and Kuroo smirks into the couch cushions. 

“Call me ‘Daichi,” is all he gets in reply. “Since we’re going to be getting a lot better acquainted in a minute or so, I think it’s only fair. Let’s say… Two minutes? Since that’s twice you’ve avoided answering.”

His foot twitches; Kuroo refrains from kicking the armrest. “Shit, why not. Do your worst.” 

“I’ll, uh, set the timer then,” Azumane says helpfully. What a guy. 

He hasn’t dared to look and see what everyone's faces are doing, but he imagines Yaku, at least, will be nearly salivating with excitement and vicious glee. On Monday, he’s going to stomp into the gym and get a ball to fucking aim it _straight_ at the little bastard’s face.

“I’m going to start now,” Daichi warns, and then immediately does. Kuroo doesn’t make a noise, but only because he almost bites through his tongue. The _smack_ of his palm meeting his ass is incredibly loud, and almost worse than the feel of the sting settling in to stay. Fuck. This is gonna be bad, isn’t it? 

That’s immediately proven to be true when Daichi starts a steady, sure rhythm without faltering, almost as if he has some practice with it. No sign of hesitation, either. Hell, if he wasn’t so busy trying not to flinch away, Kuroo would be taking notes. If he started every spanking like this, there was a high chance Kenma would be ruined for destroying his health and grades _permanently_.

“I’m kind of sad there’s no lecture,” Suga muses with a sigh. Kuroo contemplates reaching for Daichi’s shoe and throwing it. “I mean, I know this is just a penalty, but isn’t it kind of weird?” 

“True,” Kai says. What is going on with his fucking asshole of a friend, anyway? That’s _twice_ now he’s stabbed him in the back, and wait, didn’t he also fuck Yaku over? Wow, Kai is on a _roll_.

“I think we can add that to the penalty, don’t you think so, Sawamura? It seems only appropriate.”

“What about, though?” Daichi asks dryly. “On Kuroo’s lack of honesty? Because I can’t exactly fault him for not wanting to answer.” 

Bless the bastard, even if his hands never stops falling. Shit, but it really _does_ smart something fierce.

“No, no, on something like… I’m sure Kuroo is probably shit at taking care of himself,” Suga says cheerfully, signing his own death warrant. 

“He doesn’t. I have it on good authority he starts joking around more the less he’s eating, sleeping or taking care of himself.”

Yaku finally chooses _now_ to talk, sounding so sure that Kuroo kind of wants to kill him, then _Kenma_. That brat. What the hell has he been spouting? 

“I think I can work with that,” Daichi says, with a hint of… something. Disapproval? 

Why is this starting to seem like a really, _really_ bad idea?

“But if I might interject,” Kuroo interjects, worry adding smart to the next firm _smack_. His voice almost wavers, but he crushes the stutter. “Whether I take care of myself is neither here nor there, and also has nothing whatsoever to do with this damn game.”

“But I think, since this it _is_ relevant to us, in a way,” Daichi disagrees with both his hand and his words, “that it’s only fitting I be the one to address it.”

Kuroo can’t help grunting when a swat lands a little lower than the others, catching the underside of his ass. The hits are starting to overlap, and it’s getting actually pretty uncomfortable.

He agreed to this whole thing to avoid being in the line of Yaku’s disgruntled fire, but now he’s wondering if this was a huge mistake. 

“You’re a Captain. Your team looks up to you; the younger ones follow your lead and will model your behavior. If you’re not taking care of yourself and it starts to show, they’re going to see it and take your lead.” The places where he has to place his weight during warm up stretches _burns_ under a very pointed assault, and he muffles a curse. “You have an example to set, and from what I’m hearing, your current example is one I would strongly disapprove of.”

He crosses his arms, feeling weirdly exposed, and buries his face in them. 

That’s not… that’s not how it is, though. Kuroo has to set an example, yes, but he’s also got a fucking fantastic poker face, and he would _never_ let the more impressionable brats see him slip. 

“You’re a Captain, but you’re human too, Tetsurou.”

His eyes sting, as does the crown of his ass, already beginning to burn. The _fuck_.

“You can’t be holding yourself to strange standards of excellence that don’t have room for basic human needs. I’ve been there, trust me. You don’t want to go down that road.”

“I’m already d-down that road,” Kuroo can’t help protesting, smothering a hiss into his forearm. “I’m already—I’m fine. I’m doing fine and I would n-never let them see me falter like that.” 

“...I see,” Daichi says grimly. 

‘I see’? What does that—

His upper thighs, stretched taut over a raised thigh, experience a hand on them for the first time that evening, and Kuroo’s hips jump. He swallows a yelp of surprise, but can’t stop a grunt of pain as the strikes keep coming, three on top of each other on each side. Daich stops after, giving him room to get control of himself.

“Whether anyone sees it or not doesn’t matter,” Daichi says, sounding _disappointed_. Kuroo’s throat aches. “The fact that you’re thinking this way means you’re already blind to the effects your actions are having on your teammates. Ask them how they’ve been doing, some time. I guarantee you, the answer will be the same across the board.”

The spanking starts up again, and Kuroo finds it’s a lot harder to keep silent after the break. 

His ass is really starting to hurt, and the strikes are only getting harder. 

“‘I’m going to work as hard as you, Captain!’”

His sitspots—a place he likes to aim for when Kenma is abandoning his duties for games—flinch as they are targeted next.

“‘You’d never be this weak, Captain!’”

Two on top of each other, then three, then four on another side. Kuroo grinds his teeth, but there’s nowhere to run, not from the pain and not from the words that feel about as painful.

“‘I’ll do my best to meet you standards, Captain!’ How likely do you think it is that you’ll be hearing these statements from your team, Tetsurou?”

He can’t hide the thickness in his voice, the weight of acknowledgment making his words heavy. “....Likely. P-pretty likely.” 

The following strikes are just as heavy, and they feel like a direct punishment for the truth that Kuroo can barely make himself swallow. It draws the first loud complaint from his lips, and Kuroo lets the first—and last!—tears fall from his eyes.

He… never really looked at it that way. He’s always known the first years in particular look up to him, but he didn’t think to connect that to his actions and how they might try to emulate him. If he skips sleep to create a game plan, that’s on him; if he skips food to talk strategy, that’s on him; if he practices till his hands cramp, that’s on him. He’s never once considered that his actions might be repeated by the more vulnerable and eager to please, and the thought makes him sick to his stomach. 

“Then I think you know what you need to do, don’t you?” Daichi is merciless. His tone isn’t harsh, but the firmness makes Kuroo want to wilt, and his stupid all-rounder strength strikes makes him writhe against his will.

“Yes, yes, I’ll—I’ll fucking try, okay?” He squeezes his feet between the gaps in the cushions, digging with his toes to deter his hands from reaching to cover his burning ass. “I’ll. I’ll _try_.” 

He won’t promise shit, but he _will_ try. 

“I’m glad to hear it. Brace yourself, Tetsurou: we’re nearly done.” 

He takes a deep breath, not caring how wet it sounds, and isn’t ashamed of the way he _hollers_ at the heavy-handed swats that fall from the top of his ass and down to his thighs, not stopping for a second till all the ground is covered. 

At nearly the end, he hears the beeping of the alarm, shrill and entirely welcome. He slumps into the couch, after, sniffling and trying to stop his eyes from watering. It’s from the sting, he tells himself. The pain is enough to make _anyone_ want to cry.

“We’re done. Come on, Tetsu, up you get.” His name has changed a lot in the past few minutes, Kuroo notices. He helps Daichi get him to his feet, not really thinking about how bare he is, and only gets a split-second glimpse of intense eyes before he’s pulled back down again.

“Ow,” he mumbles, wincing at the feel of a sore ass on a hard surface. “That hurt, asshole.”

“A penalty is a penalty,” Daichi says mildly, hugging him tighter. Kuroo buries his face farther into his shoulder, and sulks. 

“And if you try to tell me you didn’t deserve it, I just might take you back over my knee,” comes the quietly terrifying murmur in his ear. Kuroo tenses, and quickly shakes his head, shuddering at the mere thought. Daichi starts stroking his hair, though, so that’s probably a good sign. 

“Your ass is _red_ , Kuroo,” Suga pipes up from pretty close by, sounding astonished. “Nice spiking there, Daichi. Maybe you should change positions.”

“And maybe you should shut your mouth before I decide we need a matching set,” Daichi says mildly. Suga shuts up. 

“I’m going to make tea. Show me where it is, Suga? Azumane, I could use help with the cups.”

The sounds of movement and thundering feet meets this wonderful declaration, and Kuroo keeps his face buried throughout. He doesn’t feel _ashamed_ , exactly; more small, like Kenma is always complaining about after a spanking. He doesn’t really want to move, and he doesn’t want anyone to see the look that’s probably on his face right now: a bitch that just got their ass handed to them and is moping about it.

A different set of footsteps moves closer, and stops in front of them. The couch sinks, slightly, and Kuroo shuts his eyes tighter.

When firm pressure starts running up and down his back, slow and sure, his eyes start to seriously contemplate becoming waterfalls.

“He’s not wrong, Kuroo,” Yaku murmurs—thoughtfully, gently. “You’re always pushing yourself, and we all see it. It’s a little surprising no one’s tried to do the same. Out of everyone, I would have expected to see it from Lev. You can’t go on like this, Captain.” 

“Fuck off,” Kuroo mumbles sulkily, and whines at the sharp burst of pain on his sore ass. He jerks his head up, twisting, and meets Yaku’s disapproving eyes.

“You can’t go on like this,” the libero repeats firmly, “and if I see it continuing, I think it’s safe to say we’ve found a decent deterrent.”

Kuroo wants to be indignant, furious, offended. He wants to punch Daichi in the face and drop-kick Yaku, then go storm off and not talk to anyone for a week. His ass throbs warningly, the handprints there seeming to shine bright and more painful than ever around the edges; Kuroo settles back against Daichi’s neck and doesn’t do any of that. 

“Whatever,” he mumbles, but it’s weak and they all know it.

Before anyone can say shit, the doorbell rings.

“What,” Yaku says, and gets to his feet. Kuroo is starting to feel a little fuzzy, and that’s probably why it takes a minute for two plus two to equal—

“I thought you said they wouldn’t be home tonight!” Kuroo spits, tearing himself away from Daichi’s embrace to stare wildly at the door.

“They won’t be?” comes the confused reply. “I swear, they aren’t going to be back till Monday. I don’t know who could—“

“Ehh, Kenma, don’t you know this is the Third Years only party—why are you looking at me like that,” Yaku says, and Kuroo’s stomach falls out of his aching ass.

“Kuroo said he’d be back by nine.” Kenma sounds… unhappy. He actually sounds _unhappy_. “He isn’t back. Where is Kuroo and what’ve you done with him.”

The sound of rapid footsteps, then Yaku’s head pops around the corner of the door, his rather wild looking eyes zero in on Kuroo.

“You fucking bottom, don’t you,” he says. Kuroo reaches over to the table, numb and tired and not really giving a fuck anymore. “There is no way in hell that face belongs to someone who bottoms—“

The glass shattering by Yaku’s head is incredibly satisfying, even when it leads to a warning touch on his still-bare, well-spanked ass.

“You have three seconds to apologize for that,” Daichi tells him mildly. 

Kuroo is surrounded by idiots, and this night is a _disaster_. 

**Author's Note:**

> I was feeling a lot of familiarity while writing this fic, so I’m thinking there might be one I was inspired by without realizing. In fact, I’m sure there is. If you can think of it, please let me know so I can give credit where it’s due. Thanks for reading!


End file.
